


We Soldier On

by originalwolfgirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originalwolfgirl/pseuds/originalwolfgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Believing his boss to be dead, Sebastian visits Jim's grave and contemplates how his life ended up like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Soldier On

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this gorgeous fanart: http://theaestheticsofmurder.tumblr.com/post/76898449694/sketch-request-for-my-otps-ruined-my-life-this-was

“Hey, boss…. I…"

"fuck!” Sebastian swore and turned away from the spot of earth that he had been visiting on a regular basis for the past ten months.  Ten months since _he_ …  
  
Sebastian looked at the pinkish-orange streaked horizon of the sunset.  He watched as the neatly trimmed grass of the cemetery was caressed by the mid-summer breeze.  He watched as the ant on his boot attempted to scale up the worn-out laces.  He looked anywhere but back at the tombstone that had burned its image into Sebastian’s memory.    
  
He could tell you exactly what it said verbatim, but not because there was anything spectacular about it.  Seb felt that it was far too plain for someone as extraordinary as _him_.  Seb had it memorized because he had spent every Saturday morning sitting beside it. _He_ had always loved Saturdays.    
  
Sebastian once asked him, “why not Sundays?”  
  
He said, “Because Sundays are before Mondays and no amount of praying the day before is going to make the following day any easier.”    
  
Seb had laughed because seeing _him_ on Monday morning, his dark hair disheveled and his hands groping through the cupboards for a coffee mug, was the side nobody saw of the infamous Consulting Criminal.  
  
The Monday _he_ had put a bullet in his skull, Seb had prayed the following Sunday and _he_ was right… it didn’t make the following day any easier.    
  
No day was easy.  He would never have those tranquil Saturdays again.  
  
Seb went there for about fifteen minutes every Saturday, talking about what had been going on as if the decaying corpse would animate itself to tell Sebastian he needed to stop drinking so much and move on with his life.  
  
Or at least have the courage to end it if all he was going to do was mope around for someone who hadn’t cared enough to tell Sebastian he was leaving him.  
Someone who hadn’t loved Sebastian enough to save him this despair.  
  
Seb sighed and turned back around to the grave.  He was so close to _him_.  Seb got on his knees and placed his hand on the ground, curling his fingers in the dirt.  So close.  Funny how ridding himself of this “mortal coil” was the only way to get closer.  It wasn’t something he hadn’t thought about.    
  
Seb released the dirt he had clenched in his hand and stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans.  He hesitated for a moment and then removed his dog tags from underneath his white t-shirt.  He lifted the chain over his neck and felt the cool metal of the tags pressing into his palm.    
  
He placed them on top of the black marble headstone and took a step back.  
  
“I’m sorry, Jim.” He whispered, the name like venom in the open wound of his soul.  
  
“I should have done more. I should have-“ He didn’t know what to say.  Nothing would make it better.    
  
He grabbed his gun from where it had been propped against the tombstone, as he did every time he visited to indicate the fall of a comrade.  
  
“I should have told you.” He suddenly felt all the words left unsaid dancing on his tongue but they were meaningless now.  It would have been useless to let the gentle wind carry their sound when there was nobody to hear them.  
  
The setting sun struck the marble and illuminated it in a morbidly beautiful kind of way.    
  
Seb clenched his jaw, swallowed, and started walking away from it.    
  
He rebuilt his walls, brick-by-brick, on the way back to his flat… their flat. It had been theirs. He only gave himself those fifteen minutes every week to feel sorry for himself.    
  
If he didn’t soldier on, he wouldn’t carry on period.


End file.
